


Misconception

by authoressjean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bad Parent John Winchester, Brotherly Love, But there is no Wincest, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode: s14e13 Lebanon, F/M, Gen, Good Parent Mary Winchester, Homophobic John Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I mean a lot of hurt, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mentions of Wincest, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Mary Winchester, Season/Series 14, Seriously do not piss him off, but a lot of comfort too, warning for character being outed without permission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: n. A view or opinion that is incorrect because it is based on faulty thinking or understanding.AU of 14x13. Instead of rushing to get John back to his own time, they decide to let him stay a little longer. Time won't completely collapse with one night with their dad, so what harm can him staying do?For Sam, a lot of harm. John believes something about his sons and he's determined to set all the blame at his youngest's feet, revealing painful secrets that Sam would've preferred to stay hidden, things he feared anyone finding out, things John feels are wrong.Too bad for John that Mary and Dean don't feel the same way and are more than ready to back Sam.NOT WINCEST in the SLIGHTEST, but John sure thinks so.Two-shot.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, John Winchester/Mary Winchester
Comments: 112
Kudos: 799





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So as mentioned, this is not a Wincest fic. Dean and Sam are definitely closer than your average brothers but that's canon. Dean here is as canon states: more than his big brother, absolutely his parent in so many ways. There is lots of love to be had, and if you enjoy Wincest, this is probably as gen-cest as it gets.
> 
> Sam's secret has nothing to do with his feelings for Dean and everything to do with something else. 
> 
> I'm not sure if this is triggering to anyone but a character is outed without permission. It all works out but it's a hard subject that many have had to live through so I figured I'd give the warning.
> 
> I'd love to hear feedback on this one. I'll admit that this is a little darker than I usually write and I debated posting it, but was encouraged by Lissa to do so, so this one's for you sweetie. This will be two chapters, divided because otherwise it'd be a monster of a one-shot.

It was more than he’d hoped for in nearly thirty-plus years. His family, whole, together, under one roof. Dad, alive. Mom, alive. Sam, healthy and alive and standing beside Dean as a brother and a friend. More than Dean could’ve ever dared dream of, and it was happening.

Yeah, sure, it wasn’t permanent. As soon as they’d gotten Dad and Mom back together they’d made themselves scarce, hurrying to town to get groceries for a nice dinner, they’d figured out that Dean’s wish had sort of changed all of time, and not necessarily for the better. They needed to get Dad back to 2003, needed to get him back before time kept falling apart, but…not yet. Not yet. They could share one more night together and send Dad back in the morning. That was still safe, according to Sam. That wouldn’t cause a collapse of the timelines.

First, dinner, and Dean was determined to go all out. Some of Mom’s favorites, like those weird veggies that Sam had turned her on to from the local market, and steaks just like Dad liked them. Which led Dean to his current problem: finding Dad. Because for the life of him, he couldn’t remember how the man liked his steaks. Funny what knowledge disappeared over the years.

Well, best chance to find out now was to ask the man. They’d taken to babysitting him, to make sure he didn’t learn anything about the future, but he wasn’t in the main room, and he wasn’t with Mom who was currently getting ready for her one and only date night with her husband. So where was he?

He turned down another hallway towards the reference rooms and peered into a few of the open doors. Dark, dark, more dark-

“Hey Dad?”

Well that answered one question. Dean turned around and headed back down the other hall to where Sam’s voice carried. Must be in one of the back rooms with the older books.

“Yes?”

Dean turned another corner and glanced in two rooms before he saw his dad bent over a table, several books in front of him. Sam stood, leaning against a metal bookshelf, but it was what he was doing that caught Dean’s attention. Sam didn’t chew on his fingernails often these days, but he’d done it as a kid until his fingers had bled. It was enough to make Dean pull up for a second.

Sam hesitated, but finally spoke, voice soft. “Why did you block my number on Dean’s phone?”

Dean immediately pulled himself back and out of the way. From his vantage point, he could see most of Sam and a good deal of Dad’s back, but they wouldn’t see him. And right now, he needed to hear and see what happened next. Because what the actual fuck?

Dad had blocked Sam’s number on his phone? If Dad was from 2003, it would’ve had to have been sometime while Sam was at college. It didn’t make sense, his dad wouldn’t have done something like that. There was no point to doing that.

But Dad didn’t deny it. Dad didn’t do anything except sit there, clearly watching Sam. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise.

Sam’s didn’t. His little brother didn’t look the slightest bit surprised by the response. Sam pulled his fingers from his mouth and moved over towards the table. “I mean, I figured it out not long after Dean and I came back together. I tried calling his phone during a hunt and he never got it, so while he was asleep I grabbed his phone and dug around. I knew by then that he wouldn’t have been the one to block my number. Which means you did.”

The worst part was probably Sam’s voice, soft and not even angry. Just genuinely bewildered, and something ugly curled around Dean’s heart and tightened.

“I just want to know why,” Sam finished, but he sounded like he wasn’t going to get an answer and he knew it. Which he might’ve been okay with but Dean damn well wasn’t. Dad had blocked Sam’s number? What if Sam had needed him? Had Sam tried to call him from college after all?

He was just as surprised as Sam whenever Dad actually answered. “Did you tell Dean?”

“…No,” Sam said quietly. “There’s a lot of things I don’t tell Dean and I just let him assume. Like that I never called while I was in college.” Goddammit. “Or that I spent a year with a girl and her dog and didn’t look for him.” Wait, _what_? “Small-time jobs to get us cash that aren’t playing pool or cards, that I actually do know how to cook and fix the car…he doesn’t need to know some things.”

“Secrets,” Dad accused, but Sam shook his head.

“No, just me protecting him, like he’s done for me. If he asked, I’d tell him. But some of these things…they’d just drag up old hurts. And they’d just hurt him, and what’s the point of that?”

“So why ask me?”

Sam pursed his lips, and Dean waited, breath held, even as his mind whirled. Oh, he and Sammy were going to have a serious talk at some point. Because really? What the actual hell? How much had the kid not told him just because he was trying to protect Dean? Why hadn’t he just _said_ something?

“If you’re not going to tell Dean-“

“Because I want to know,” Sam said, slowly shaking his head. “I mean, didn’t you ever think that maybe I might actually get in trouble while I was in college, and I’d have no one to call? That I’d be without the person who’d been there for me whenever I needed him? I could’ve needed help and Dean never would’ve known.”

He gave a bitter laugh but he didn’t look mad at Dad. Worse: he looked _hurt_. “You know, I called him that first year,” Sam said, and that was what Dean hadn’t wanted to hear. “I called, desperate for him to come get me. I was gonna beg to come back, apologize to you, hell, I’d have done anything he wanted, I just wanted him to come get me-“

“And that’s what I was afraid of,” Dad said, and he stood, clearly trying to use height to stand up against Sam, which Dean almost laughed at. Would have, if what Dad said made any sort of sense. “You just figured you could call your brother like a dog and he’d come running-“

“He’s not a _dog_ ,” Sam said hotly, finally showing some spark for the first time since he’d asked his question. “You wanted us to be together, to support each other and look out for each other, so why-“

For some reason, Dad visibly flinched. Dean frowned and leaned in closer. “Dad,” Sam began, looking equally as puzzled, but Dad waved him off.

“You can’t just drag your brother into your life whenever you want him. You would’ve just tossed him to the side when you decided you didn’t want to deal with hunting again.” Dad shook his head, not loud and angry but low and upset, and Dean knew that would hit Sam ten times harder. “You’re selfish,” Dad continued, and Sam jerked as if he’d been struck. “You never think about your brother at all, and I did. I protected him. He learned how to say no to you while you two were apart. And I’ll never regret what I did. He needed time without you.”

Sam had turned almost white, eyes wide and wet, and Dean felt his fingers clench into a fist. “He could use some more of that time now,” Dad said, and turned to leave. Not before tossing out a last parting shot of, “You’re still making it all about you. Think about that for a minute,” and heading towards the door. Dean quickly moved to another doorway and behind the door just in time. Dad headed out, looking like the same indomitable man he’d always been. After Dad’s footsteps faded, Dean stepped back out. Sam hadn’t left the room.

Sam hadn’t moved, period, from the looks of it, and he leaned against the table like it was the only thing holding him up. Dean pushed the door open and made sure the hinges squealed as he did so. Sam immediately raised his hand to his face and scrubbed his hand across. His eyes were clearly red.

“You okay?” Dean asked, and then, because he wasn’t supposed to have heard any of the conversation, “What happened?”

Sam shook his head and gave a short laugh. “Just…Dad,” he said, and he actually gave Dean what looked like a genuine smile. “Just can’t believe he’s here, y’know? It gets a little much sometimes.”

He was seriously playing it off like they were happy tears, like he was happy about Dad being there to rip his heart out and stomp on it and accuse him of being selfish. _There’s a lot of things I don’t tell Dean and I just let him assume._ And damn if it didn’t make Dean wonder how many other times Sam didn’t tell him the full truth because he didn’t want to hurt Dean. Because he wanted to protect Dean.

He swallowed back his initial response. “If he’s bugging you, I’m just saying. I know how you two used to get into it.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Sam said immediately. He wiped his face one more time and then shrugged. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Bingo. And Dad had the nerve to call Sam selfish. “C’mon,” Dean said quietly, and he nudged Sam in the shoulder. “I’m thinking a big blow-out dinner, and you can come help me cook.”

“I’m not the best cook-“

“Best one I could ask for,” Dean said. He gave his brother a grin and tugged him by the arm towards the door. He had a few dishes he intended to toss Sam’s way and he bet his brother could handle them. Brat was going to be far more useful in the kitchen now that Dean knew.

And they were going to have that talk after everyone else went to bed. That, Dean would make sure of.

First, though, he needed to find Mom.

Dinner was just as awkward as Sam had feared it would be. Dad was in full judgmental mode, and it made him feel all of a teenager again. This John clearly hadn’t gotten as far as the Dad Sam had met again after Jess had died. Because this John? This was the dad Sam remembered fighting with nearly every day, having screaming matches with in the hope that he’d be heard at least once or maybe even understood.

He remembered why he always backed down, though. Not because he thought his dad was right or that he’d lost the argument. No, he remembered standing down because watching Dean move through whatever place they were in, silent and miserable in the wake of their fighting, had been worse than Dad getting the win. And he wasn’t going to see it happen here, today.

But that wasn’t what was happening.

In fact, it was _Dean_ goading Dad in a way that Sam had never even done. Every time Dad tried to say something as they prepared dinner, probably with the intent of needling at Sam (his favorite hobby, Sam was sure), Dean was there instead. In fact, Dean had been nothing _but_ there since he’d found Sam crying in the reference room after Dad’s speech. He was just grateful Dean hadn’t heard that.

For whatever reason, Dean kept Sam by his side with the most inane of tasks that he knew his older brother could handle. First it was chopping up vegetables for sautéing. Well, to be completely honest, first it was Dean tossing Dad out of the kitchen with a short, “Go find Mom,” leaving Dad with very little options besides abandoning any attempts to talk and finding his wife. _Then_ Sam had been set to chopping up vegetables. After that it was washing the darker greens and prepping the oils for the homemade dressing. When Dad came back in, looking all set to be undeterred, Dean suddenly needed the table set and he sent Sam out to do that.

He was pretty sure Mom was in on whatever Dean was doing, too, because the instant Dad had come out to the main room where Sam had just put out plates, Mom took over and shooed him back to the kitchen to help Dean. Dean, who told him to finish the vegetables and to start searing the steaks.

It was more than Dean usually gave him to do in the kitchen but whatever, he didn’t mind cooking. Dean just liked doing it more and it made him happy, so why butt in?

Dean took off, leaving Sam to deal with the steaks, and he added whatever blend of spices he saw fit to use. By the time he was done Dean was back, ready to take food to the table. Sam readied himself for wherever they all came together at the table, and he watched as Dad waited, ready to do the same.

Which was when Dean shoved Sam into a seat and took the one directly next to him, and Mom neatly took the seat across from Sam. Leaving Dad the seat farthest from Sam, next to Mom and across from Dean. It was done so damn fast and without fuss that Sam would’ve almost considered it a coincidence.

Except.

Well. Winchesters didn’t do coincidences. And he knew his brother too damn well for that.

Most of dinner was spent with everyone tucking in. Salad, steak, vegetables, and the last loaf of fresh bread Mom and Dean had made the other day. He’d known there was another loaf left, the bastards. Where the hell had they hidden it?

Dad cleared his throat, and Sam instantly sat up straighter. “This is some great steak, Dean,” he said, and Sam felt himself relax. “Thanks.”

“All I did was buy it,” Dean said like he’d been waiting for someone to talk. “Sam’s the one who cooked it.”

Sam glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye but Dean just sat and smiled, like it was no big deal that Sam had cooked. “All I did was sear them,” Sam said.

“What did you use as seasoning?” Mom asked. “You chose really well, there’s a great flavor to them.”

Whatever the two of them had planned, Sam would’ve appreciated some form of head’s up, because these…these compliments weren’t something he felt equipped to handle. He settled for taking another bite of his salad with a quickly muttered, “Thanks,” because the silence felt too empty.

Thankfully, Dad turned his attention to Mom, and his entire face softened with what was definitely love. It wasn’t a look that Sam had really seen very often on his dad’s face but it was there: the warm eyes, the soft smile on his face, and for a moment, Sam was both incredibly happy and insanely jealous all at once. Happy because his parents were together for the first time that Sam had ever known them, and it was a vision that he’d only ever had dreams about.

Jealous because that face of love wasn’t one that Sam had seen directed at him very often. The thought made him flinch a little. God, maybe he really was as selfish as his dad had said.

“This is more than I’d ever hoped for,” Dad said in the softest voice Sam had ever heard from him. “My whole family here at the table. Hoped for. But never expected.”

Mom just smiled and rested her hand on top of Dad’s, and Sam actually thought Dad was going to cry. “I didn’t expect to be here either,” Mom admitted. “But certainly not with you and my two boys.” She smiled at Dean, then Sam, and it always felt like she was embracing him with that smile. “We didn’t have the easiest of starts, but we got there.”

“I’m glad we did,” Sam said, and her smile broadened. No, they hadn’t had the world’s greatest of introductions, thanks to the British Men of Letters, but they were together now and that was what counted. Even when they had to let Dad go, at least they’d still get to keep Mom.

They turned back to the meal, and Sam grabbed his glass of wine – wine, he couldn’t believe Dean had remembered the few wines in the back room – and took a generous sip.

“So Sam, you’ve got a girlfriend, right?”

Sam all but choked on his wine and felt some of it burn up in his nostrils. He coughed and coughed, eyes watering, even while Dean clapped him hard on the back.

“Way to ease into something, John,” Mom said, shaking her head. “I forgot about that ‘bull in a china shop’ tenacity of yours.”

“I figured this was as invasive a question as I could ask,” Dad said a touch defensively. “You won’t give me anything about the future otherwise; what harm could there be in asking if he’s with a girlfriend?”

Sam finally managed to get himself back under and glanced at Dad. As innocent as the question was phrased, Dad never did innocent. Dean knew it too, and was now giving Dad a suspicious look. Dean didn’t know why Dad was asking, though. Sam knew, and it had nothing to do with wanting to know about the future.

“No,” Sam said. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend right now. I haven’t really had a girlfriend since…”

Since Jess. Jess who he still thought about sometimes late at night when he was alone and cold, and he would miss her then with a fierceness that stole his breath. She probably would’ve understood about the hunter life, he liked to think about. Maybe she would’ve stuck around if he’d told her.

Dean seemed to sense what had taken his thoughts and got predictably even more pissed off about it. “Given that Sam’s last girlfriend wound up dead, could you maybe pick a different topic?” he snapped. His hand rested firmly on Sam’s shoulder, a solid, _I’m here Sammy,_ and it helped Sam get through the next breath. He’d been there after Jess, after Madison, after Eileen and Sarah, hell, even after Ruby in some ways. His brother, his best friend and protector and really his parent. He wouldn’t tell Mom or Dad that, but Dean had been the one who’d really raised him, the one whose approval meant everything.

And it was for that last reason that Sam really wanted Dad to stop talking.

“I didn’t mean to bring something like that up,” Dad said, and he actually sounded apologetic. “I’m sorry, Sam. I just…figured it was a safe topic.”

Maybe Dad had let… _it_ go. Maybe he wasn’t really asking for the reasons Sam thought. He could…well, not really let it go himself, but Dean and Mom not finding out was something Sam was pretty invested in. “It’s okay,” he said at last. “It’s not like you knew.”

“He’s too busy hanging out with his books here to find a girl,” Dean said, and he clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Gotta get out more, Sammy.”

“The only person the two of you see is each other,” Mom pointed out. “And Castiel.” She winced as soon as she said it, and Sam did too, because there was no way Dad wouldn’t ask.

Like clockwork, Dad turned to Dean. “Castiel?”

Sam glanced at Dean. _How do you want to take this?_ he asked with his gaze. It wasn’t like they could tell Dad about angels.

Dean made a face but finally nodded. “He’s a friend. He hunts with us and lives here in the bunker.”

Dad immediately looked at Sam, and Sam felt his face burn. “Lives here?” Dad asked and there was no way Dad was letting it go. Dammit the _hell_.

“He’s like family,” Mom said, as if sensing the tension, and Sam managed to keep the flinch from showing. Wrong thing to say, and Dad’s gaze sharpened more.

“He’s like a brother to us, really,” Sam said. That had to help, right? Because it was true, Castiel really had become a brother. He glanced at Dean and found his brother smiling, clearly thinking the same thing. In spite of everything, it made Sam’s lips turn up too. “Not as close as we are,” he added. “No one could replace Dean.”

Dean’s cheeks took on a funny red tone but he grinned. “Sap,” he accused, but he could tell his big brother was touched. It wasn’t often that Sam got the chance to actually tell his brother how much Dean meant to him. He’d take every chance he could get.

When he glanced at his parents, though, he found himself surprised by the reactions. Mom had a smile on her face, fondly watching the both of them. But Dad-

Dad looked ready to blow a gasket, and it was enough to make Sam want to leave the table right now. Dean turned when he saw Sam’s smile fall and frowned himself.

Dad seemed to be trying to calm himself without much luck, and it reflected in his voice. “Sam-“

“Who wants dessert?” Sam said a touch loudly. He stood and began grabbing empty food plates. “Dean and I have pie.”

“We’ll wash up some stuff in the meanwhile,” Dean said smoothly and followed his lead, snagging two plates and heading into the kitchen after Sam.

Maybe they could avoid the blow-out that was coming. Or at least, avoid it long enough that Sam and Dad could have it in private. Without Dean or Mom around.

Dinner was just as awkward Dean had hoped it would be. Not his fault his Dad was in full-on prick mode.

His weird insistence that Sam have a girlfriend? And bringing up memories of Jess and god knew what else at the same time, which, yeah, let’s make Dean’s life that much easier for the next few nights when he knew that Sam kept Jess’s treasured photo in the drawer next to his bed, wrinkled from time but gently smoothed out with a few water stains from tears. Dean knew. He’d put it back in the drawer after Sam had fallen asleep and dropped it, cheeks wet. The next few nights were bound to be full of self-recrimination and heart-breaking memories, which would all result in his kid hurting.

And the thing about Castiel? Was he, what, pissed off that they’d made a new little family, found a new brother? Because pot, kettle, Dad, and he wasn’t afraid to bring up Adam to make his point. Let Dad’s head spin with that.

Honestly, the entire thing had been Dad chewing on Sam, and Dean didn’t get it. How much of this had Dean missed when they were younger? He’d brushed off the fights he’d heard every day as Sam being a teenager, wanting the ‘normal’ life and being surly and determined enough to fight for it, but Dad’s chewing on Sam sounded a lot like Dad when they’d been younger. Somehow, Dean had forgotten that part. It made his stomach churn to think about how much he might’ve missed.

Sam stood now at the sink, washing the dishes in perhaps the slowest way he’d ever seen someone wash dishes. Dean didn’t blame him for not wanting to go back out there. “You okay?” he had to ask.

Sam just shrugged. “I’ll deal with Dad,” Dean continued. “I’ll keep him off of you.”

“That’s all you’ve been doing,” Sam pointed out. He gave a grin as he said it, though.

Not very well. Not well enough to keep Dad out of Sam’s hair. “Yeah, well, I’ll do it better. Why he’s picking at you, I don’t know.”

“Everyone’s got a hobby,” Sam said wryly. “I’ll just ignore him. It’s what I always should’ve done. We would’ve had a lot less fights growing up if I had. Sorry,” he added.

Sorry? “For what?” Dean asked.

For a long minute, Sam didn’t answer. Dean contented himself with drying the dishes as they came. Waiting Sam out. Easiest way to get his kid to talk.

It didn’t take long. “The fights. With Dad. You didn’t deserve to deal with those. I know they always upset you.”

Dean sighed and set the dish aside. Sam was doing a damn good job of not looking at Dean. “You didn’t deserve a dad who jumped down your throat all the time,” he countered. “Or a brother who wouldn’t take a side.”

“You shouldn’t have had to take a side,” Sam pointed out. He grabbed the last dish and started washing the plate. “I’m just saying-“

Dad’s voice suddenly came through from the other room, loud and angry, and Dean froze. Had he seriously just asked-

“I need to know: are the boys screwing each other?”

Of all the things Sam had anticipated coming from Dad’s conversation, this…hadn’t been it.

“Are the boys screwing each other?”

Sam nearly dropped the wash rag and the plate, mouth dropping open in pure shock. Beside him, Dean made a choked noise.

Silence reigned. Then Mom’s voice came through, sounding just as stunned as they were. “Excuse me?”

“There’s no way to be delicate about it,” Dad snapped. “God knows I can barely stomach even asking. But are Sam and Dean…are they having sex with each other?”

At least Mom didn’t even hesitate. “ _No_! Dear god John, of course they aren’t! I don’t even know you _can_ ask!”

Sam wasn’t sure, either, but he found himself unable to breathe, waiting for Dad’s response. Dean’s tension could be felt as close as they were standing together, and for the first time, his brother’s presence was suddenly so _sickening_ that Sam nearly stepped away. Of all the things for Dad to ask…

And _why_?

“I have to,” Dad continued. “Because I saw it coming years ago. I know how those two were raised in each other’s pockets, not like other brothers, and I know that probably contributed to it-“

“Contributed to _what_?”

“How close they are. You have to see that. That…that level of dedication to each other, it just makes it easier for what I always feared Sam would do.”

He startled at his name, the plate slipping out of his hand and into the sink. Dean caught it mid-fall and his fingers were white, they were so tight around the plate. It was more than Sam could do.

Because he had no idea how his dad could even _think_ that he would do something like that. Why would Sam even…he realized his chest was painfully tight as his body begged for air but he couldn’t remember how to make his lungs work. If he did, he knew he’d be sick.

“What Sam would do?” Mom asked, still sounding stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“When they were kids, Sam had Dean wrapped around his little finger,” Dad said. “Dean would do anything Sam wanted, no matter whether he wanted to or not. And I knew if Sam ever asked, Dean would bend over and take it.”

The wash rag slipped from numb fingers and he barely managed to grab hold of the edge of the counter to keep from sinking to the ground.

“John!”

“It’s true! And I never would’ve thought of Sam’s adoration being anything more than hero worship until he kept hanging around Dean as a teen. No teen does that with an older brother, and Dean just let him stay closer and closer.”

“That doesn’t mean that they’re screwing! Or that, god, that Sam would _make_ Dean do that! How could you even make that sort of leap?”

And just like that, he suddenly knew exactly what his dad was going to say next, and he thought about screaming, grabbing the plate from where Dean was still gripping it hard enough to break it and throw it on the floor, something, anything, because the thing he’d been trying to avoid all night was now-

“Because while Dean was on a hunt with Caleb and Thomas, I came home early from my own hunt and found Sam with his tongue buried in some faggot’s mouth, and the kid was a dead ringer for Dean!”

Sam slapped a hand over his mouth in order to keep the bile from rising and pouring out. His eyes were so wide that they watered and his knees finally gave, unable to keep him upright. Something grabbed his arm and caught hold, _hard_ , and he tumbled to the floor after it. His knees hit tile hard enough that some part of him knew it was pain, but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears or the thundering pulse in his ears.

Pressure against his forehead. Cold and clammy hands shaking against the side of his face. Green eyes staring into his. Mouth moving with words he couldn’t hear. He swam against the tidal wave of black that invited him to be anywhere besides there because that was Dean, and his big brother needed him.

Noise returned. A high-pitched voice that sounded angry, another voice just as furious, and above them all, a whispered litany that Sam would always gravitate towards first, the voice of the one person who had been more a parent to him than anyone else.

“…breathe, Sam, breathe, just breathe, goddammit just _breathe_ -“

Sam pulled in a breath and then almost choked on it as his body fought for air. His eyes burned as he heaved in air after air and his stomach rolled. “Slow,” Dean whispered cautiously, moving his hands down to Sam’s shoulders to keep him upright. “Just breathe slow, in and out.”

“I wouldn’t,” Sam gasped out. “D-Dean, I, I don’t, I wouldn’t, I swear to god I would _never_ -“

“Jesus fuck Sam I _know_ that,” Dean whispered angrily. He glared beyond Sam in the general direction of the kitchen doorway before turning back to Sam. His anger softened in the face of Sam’s obvious distress, clearly being put on the backburner because for some reason, it wasn’t being aimed at Sam. “You don’t have to tell me that, I know that.”

The volume from the other room seemed to get even louder, now that Sam had enough air in his brain to comprehend what else was going on. The high-pitched was angry and oh god, Mom sounded so _disgusted_ and _angry_ and Sam actually gagged and brought a hand to his mouth again.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Dean began to say, panic entering his eyes, but then Mom’s voice came through loud and clear and they both froze.

“You _let_ Sam go to Stanford?”

“They called and demanded a parental signature on a document and I found the papers in Sam’s stuff and even faxed it to them. I had to get Sam out and away from Dean. I let the fight happen because dammit I _was_ pissed that he’d applied to colleges behind my back but at least this way I could keep them safe from _that_. I was half-afraid that Dean would go with him but I managed to keep him with me. It worked out for the best. Sam leaving was the best thing that could’ve happened so you’re damn right I let him go.”

There was a high-pitched whine that sounded like a wounded animal, and it wasn’t until Dean put a hand up to Sam’s mouth to shush him that he realized the sound was coming from his throat, torn out of him without his permission like everything else that was going on. Some part of him felt cracked open, worse than he’d felt whenever he’d faced his dad down and been told if he left he could never come back. Worse than when he’d tried to call Dean and thought his big brother had cut him out, too. He felt angry and broken and eviscerated, torn apart and bleeding across the floor and watching as his dad held the bloody blade. One of the wounds was going to be the one that had him bleeding out, and that was if his dad didn’t decide to deliver a blow that outright killed him.

He’d been accused of sleeping with his brother, manipulating and _raping_ his brother, and been outed. And now for Dad to have said that he’d deliberately let Sam go, that he’d signed papers in order to all but kick Sam out to protect his one good son-

Sam dry-heaved again and tasted dinner. Dean’s hands clenched on the side of his head and the pain helped ground him. “C’mon, easy,” Dean whispered. “Deep breath, c’mon Sammy, breathe.”

Silence had fallen in the outer room. It only made Mom’s eventual voice that much louder. “No, they’re not sleeping together,” she said, and she almost sounded calm. Terror and resignation fought inside of him, that maybe Dad had convinced her that he wasn’t worth keeping around, that he was wrong and that, that, that-

“But you know what, I wouldn’t care if they were.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he caught his brother’s gaze, Dean as stunned as he was.

“You, you wouldn’t care?” Dad sounded like he could barely breathe. “Mary, they’re your _sons_.”

“They’ve also been through Hell itself and I know there’s things of what they’ve been through that they’re not telling me. I know they’re keeping the bad parts from me, trying to protect me. So if they’ve found some form of peace with each other like that, sure, let them.”

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. Sam found he was holding his breath again, unable to breathe for fear that he’d miss what his mom said. Dean seemed equally as hesitant to fill the silence with unnecessary noise. They waited.

“But they haven’t. And I think what I can’t wrap my head around is what you have against Sam. Because despite what the world’s thrown at him, your youngest is one of the nicest, most empathetic, sweetest, smartest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He has a heart of gold. Even after everything, he still hurts for people he doesn’t even know and gives every part of himself to protect someone else, especially if that person is his older brother. That boy doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body.”

Sam’s face felt like it was on fire. Dean was giving him that stupid big brother smile, that fond, “That’s my kid,” grin that said he was so incredibly proud of Sam. He didn’t understand it because how could he be proud of Sam? But it was there, and a tiny part of his shredded heart clung to it.

Mom didn’t stop there, though. “And after this _enlightening_ conversation, I definitely have no doubts about who’s responsible for that.”

It was Dean’s turn to go scarlet, but this at least was pure truth. Dean deserved that distinction because Mom was right: Dean was the real parent, the only one who’d really raised him. The guy who’d given his life for Sam and had loved him through addiction, through being soulless, through the trials and the sickness, even against the Mark. Dean had loved him through it all.

It felt paltry sometimes, how little Sam had to give back in terms of love. He just wanted to be worthy of being Dean’s kid, his little brother. Dean deserved a better little brother than the one he’d gotten but Sam wouldn’t stop trying to be worthy of the big brother he had.

“I don’t want to spend my time with you fighting,” Mom was saying, and she gave a little sad laugh. “I forgot how much we used to get into it. I just…what you’ve become, John, it scares me. How you can look at Sam and see the worst in him, it’s like you think you only have one son.”

Dad didn’t answer, and it was answer all its own and Sam just. He couldn’t do it. He tried to turn over, to crawl, to just leave because he couldn’t listen to this anymore. He needed to find a bathroom where he could purge dinner and lunch and all of these horrible feelings inside of him. He needed a bed where he could curl up under the blankets and sob until he felt empty because empty was better than this feeling of ripped apart and unworthy and unwanted. Mom’s words were tiny band aids against deep cuts meant to wound and kill, and maybe later he could appreciate them more, but for right now, he just couldn’t.

Hands caught him underneath his armpits and pulled him upright, just like they had when he’d been a toddler. He found himself propped against Dean, Dean under him for height differences, and then they were moving fast and silent out of the kitchen. Dean only took one moment to pause at the door, and Sam managed to see Mom’s face and the back of Dad as they stood facing each other, Mom’s face going pale when she seemed to realize that they’d been within earshot, and then she only gave a tight nod. Then they were moving down the hall as fast as they could, around the corner, past the door and into Dean’s room where Dean deposited him gently on the bed, so gently like he was wounded, and Sam wondered briefly if maybe he really was bleeding out.

He left Sam there for a moment in order to shut the door and lock it, close the vent above the door, and hurry for the bathroom. It was only when he came back with the trash bin that Sam realized he was panting heavily and gulping furiously. Dean barely got it beneath him in time before he was finally sick. He retched and retched until tears streamed down his face and his stomach begged off.

Through it all, Dean’s hand stayed on his back, like he wasn’t afraid of Sam and being this close to his brother. Like he’d wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than at Sam’s side while he hurled into a trash bin and brought up what felt like everything he’d ever eaten.

He didn’t really remember stopping, only that Dean helped him wipe his face and rinse and spit before settling him into bed. He heard sounds in the bathroom, water running and banging around, and then a cool cloth landed gently across his eyes. They burned again in response to his brother’s mother hen routine, and he wanted to say something, anything, but exhaustion pulled him under.

It wasn’t until Dean settled behind him, though, a warm presence against him just as he always was whenever Sam was sick, that he finally succumbed and passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one who enjoys beating Sam up a bit.
> 
> As much as I loved the 300th episode, as much as I adore John (I wrote a little series called Raising a Big Brother that sort of reflected that a tiny smidge) this just fit. I'm not trying to justify anything from John's perspective in this second half - I'm the one writing him as a bastard here - only trying to remind everyone (especially myself) that he is human and as such has more emotions than just anger.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this last half. Merry Christmas Eve Eve!

The room was quiet. Almost too quiet. He thought about finding his headphones and iPod (as much as he loved his Walkman he had to admit that Sam’s gift from a few years ago was far better listening quality) but it would mean leaving Sam’s side. And that wasn’t anything he was ready to do.

Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick. And Dean had thought that the fight between Dad and Sam before Sam had left for Stanford had been bad. Sorry, the fight that Dad had apparently all but staged.

It made Dean want to be sick himself. Sam had all but turned himself inside out, and Dean couldn’t help but be impressed that he’d managed to keep it together until they’d gotten to Dean’s room. He’d come close in the kitchen, that was for certain, but then he’d held it together until Dean could get him out.

What parent did that? What _person_ did that?

Dean put a hand over his face and realized it was trembling. He didn’t even know how to unpack everything, and it was an hour later. Time hadn’t stopped his brain from rolling at all.

He kept going back over everything, over and over again. Dad’s words lacking any real venom, just stated like angry facts. Mom’s incredulous gasps and swift denial, and thank god for that. Sam going white as a sheet and limp as a ragdoll, all but falling to the ground, tears streaming down his face while he’d mouthed the word ‘no’ over and over again. Dean didn’t even think he’d been aware of what he’d been doing, he’d been so far gone. Sam had looked so young and so _lost_ and it had made Dean want to grab a knife, a chair, anything to tear into the other room and make Dad just _stop_.

And then for Sam’s only words to be a plea, for Dean to believe him that he would never do that…

Dean shut his eyes tight. What a night.

The earlier conversation made more sense now, though, in light of the crapfest they’d listened to. It was clear that Dad had been referencing Sam’s makeout session with whatever guy he’d been with at the time. Dean hadn’t even thought that Sam had _been_ with a guy before, like, _ever_ , it wasn’t like Sam had ever shown any inclination towards a guy. And it wasn’t like Sam had had any free time to hook up with anyone, guy or girl. What guy had he met with?

He tried to cast his mind back. He’d only ever gone on a hunt once with Caleb and Tom, and Dad had insisted he’d watch out for Sam in his absence. He’d been freshly minted twenty-two, Sam almost eighteen, home base in Oregon. The hunt had taken him to Nevada and they’d had a blast until he’d gotten home and found Sam bruised and beaten to hell and back from the hunt Dad had sworn he wouldn’t even take Sam on-

The pieces fell into place so swiftly it took the air out of his lungs, and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Dad had never said he’d taken Sam on the hunt. Sam had never said anything about the hunt. “Shouldn’t have done it,” was all he’d said, and it had never really made sense.

Oh god. Oh _god_.

Dean put his fist against his mouth and swallowed back bile. Then he was blindingly furious, so angry in a way that he hadn’t been since the Mark, and it was almost enough to make him leave to find Dad, to beat him the way he’d beaten Sam.

No wonder Sam had never looked at a guy with intention ever again. No wonder he’d never told Dean.

“Goddammit,” Dean muttered under his breath. He realized his eyes were filling with hot, angry tears, and he rested a shaking hand on Sam’s shoulder. It rose and fell with each of his brother’s breaths. He’d trusted Dad, left Sam with his dad, and-

Dad had never raised a hand to either of them. Voice, yeah, plenty of that, curses and fury and disappointment, Dad had never been shy with how low he’d thought of either of them. But there’d never been a punch or a slap or even a swat when they’d been toddlers. So for Dad to have completely lost it like that on Sam spoke to how furious his dad had been at finding Sam with a guy.

God only knew what he’d actually said to Sam. Because bruises healed, broken bones mended. But words dug deep and festered, especially to Sam. His mind flew back to that horrible voicemail that Sam had thought had been from him, and Dean had only found out about that a few years ago. Sam had let that one sit for _years_ , believing it, and even now Dean worried that his brother could hear that impersonated voice of Dean ringing in his ears, saying he’d kill Sam.

He had no idea the type of damage Sam had taken tonight, hearing all of that. He’d never seen his brother have such a visceral reaction though, been so suddenly and utterly _afraid_.

Afraid. He’d been afraid, not of Dad but what Dad had been saying. Because he’d never intended on Dean or Mom knowing that he’d been interested in guys (maybe still was, but psychological damage like that was probably hard to get past). And Dad had basically outed him.

A gentle knocking made Dean still tense until he saw his mom’s face peer around the door. She pinched her lips tight with a grimace when she saw Sam, but when she met Dean’s gaze, he gave her a firm nod. He had Sam. She nodded back. “Where is he,” Dean said lowly.

“Main room,” she said, voice equally soft. Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. Dean could relate. “I’m not letting him back here or anywhere near Sam.”

He sort of knew what she’d ask before she asked it. “Did you know…?”

“None of it,” Dean said. He glanced at Sam, hand still on his brother’s shoulder. “I didn’t know a damn thing about the boyfriend, the fight going to college, none of it. Sam never said anything. Well. Anything that he knew about. Trust me. A lot of what Dad said was a shock for both of us.”

Mom shook her head. “I was afraid of that. I need to get back to make sure he’s not looking at books about future events but…I just…I just needed to see Sam,” she finished helplessly, and Dean felt himself soften. Because that, that he understood. The need to see Sam breathing, at some sort of peace. God knew there wouldn’t be any as soon as Sam woke up.

Especially since Mom had seen Sam, white and shaking like a leaf as they’d come out of the kitchen. The fact that she’d held off for an hour was impressive.

“He’ll be all right,” Dean told her. He’d make sure of it.

Mom gave a slow nod. “What about you?” she asked.

He snorted a bitter laugh. “I knew Dad was a bastard a long time ago. I just hadn’t counted on this level of bastard. I’ll deal with it.” Sam was the priority now. Any elation Dean had felt about his dad being there, about his whole family being together, had been lost as soon as Sam’s eyes had widened and he’d dropped the dinner plate in shock.

There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do in order to keep that look off of Sam’s face.

“I just…” Mom stepped inside a little, enough to close the door behind her. “I just can’t believe he would believe that. How do you make the leap from your youngest making out with another boy to your sons…?”

“Marshall,” Dean said, the name and face finally coming to him. “Kid’s name was Marshall. He was Sam’s study partner, nice kid. God, how the hell did I miss something more than study partner?” he mused. “I mean, it wouldn’t have been my first thought, Sam inviting him over for something more than studying, but still, hickies are hickies.”

Mom snorted, the first glimpse of a smile gracing her face. “I imagine Sam played that close to the chest. For apparently good reason,” and her smile faded. “I’m sure your father reacted…poorly when he found them together.”

Dean’s lips curled back in a snarl but he managed to tamp it down after a moment. Last thing Mom needed to know was that Dad had been responsible for Sam being black and blue afterward. “Poorly is a good way to describe it,” he said at last. “Whatever he said clearly made a lasting impression. I’ve never seen Sam with a guy. I never knew Sam was even interested in more than women.”

Mom’s face twisted in frustration. “How much _did_ you two…”

“All of it. We heard all of it.”

Mom flinched. Dean glanced over at Sam who slept on, still curled up in a defensive ball. “Sam never would’ve told us,” Dean said quietly. “When Dad mentioned it, god, Mom, the look on his face…” He swallowed hard.

“I don’t care,” Mom said firmly. “Let him be with who he wants to be with. You too.”

“Including each other?” Dean asked incredulously.

Mom actually blushed and she gave a little laugh. “Yeah, all right, I was pissed off at your father and said the first thing I thought might get a reaction.”

“Oh it got a reaction,” Dean assured her. “From all of us.” Not often your mom came out and supported an incestuous relationship between you and your brother that didn’t even exist.

She gave a wry grin and, in that moment, looked just like Sam. “Fair enough. I know you two aren’t doing illicit things back here with each other. My point was that I’ll support you in whomever you love. Boy, girl, angel. Might be a stretch with a demon but if your heart’s set on someone-“

“Ew.”

“Just…you have my support. You boys have seen enough of Hell. It’d be nice for you to have something of Heaven for a bit.”

It wasn’t something that Dean took lightly. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

She nodded and turned for the door. He watched her begin to close the door, then called out, “Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah?”

It felt important to say out loud. “We’re not doing anything like that,” he said. “We’re just brothers. Sam would never do anything like that.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know, sweetheart.”

“And…he’s my kid. Always will be.” His gaze hardened. “If you don’t remind the asshole out there of that, I’ll be happy to do so.”

Mom gave a quick smile at that. “I’ll remind him, but you’ll probably have to say it yourself.”

Dean was actually looking forward to it. Mom closed the door behind her without a single sound, leaving him with the silence as he sat next to Sam. Still, she’d quelled some of the rage he felt with Dad, enough that he could settle a little.

He reached over and grabbed his iPod. Something to pass the time while he let Sam sleep off one of the worst nights of the kid’s life.

His eyes hurt when he woke up. He blinked and blinked again, the swollen, itching feeling of his eyes making him wince. He shut his eyes again against the burning pain. It felt like he’d been crying, but to an extent he couldn’t remember having done in a long time.

It matched the hollow feeling in his chest. Like someone had carved him out and left him an empty shell. He could feel, if he wanted to, but something inside told him, _don’t_. He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable against his mattress that…wasn’t his mattress. This felt like memory foam.

Something moved against him, something that felt a lot like a person he knew even better than himself. “Sam?” Dean whispered. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” Sam whispered back. His throat felt sore and ravaged, sandpapered until it was raw, but it didn’t make sense. He tried to swallow and got nowhere.

“You feel up to some water?”

Why wouldn’t he? “Yeah,” he croaked and tried to push himself up. The memory foam didn’t make it easy, and his arms felt like wet noodles. Used up, just like the rest of him. But why-

It wasn’t a trickling of memory so much as it was a sledgehammer that hit him right in the stomach. He bent over forwards with the impact, gasping for air, and clawed at his chest because numb was better than this, and he wanted the hollow feeling back. Not…not _this_.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice was frantic, and an instant later, he had a hand on Sam’s shoulder, keeping him upright. It was always a comfort to know that his brother was there with him, but the memory of Dad’s words tainted everything, and the thought of doing that to Dean, _forcing_ him to-

He gagged on nothing and felt his stomach tense to the point of pain. “Hey, hey, no,” Dean said firmly, and another hand went to Sam’s shoulder. “Stop, Sam, just stop okay? Breathe for me.”

“I wouldn’t-“

“I know,” he heard, his brother’s voice solid and sure. “God, Sammy I know, okay? Just breathe, slow, c’mon kiddo don’t do this.”

He wanted to scream, wanted to throw up until there really wasn’t anything left inside of him. But he couldn’t ignore his brother’s plea, filled with desperation and worry. The only reason he ever tried when he didn’t have the strength or capability to keep going was Dean. For Dean, he’d do anything.

He forced his next breath to slow down, tried to hear past the buzzing in his ears and listen to Dean, who was exaggerating long breaths for him to match. “That’s it,” Dean encouraged when Sam managed to match him. “You got this. Another breath, there we go.”

Slowly the buzzing faded away, his chest loosened enough to let him take deeper breaths, and his stomach began to settle. He only realized that Dean’s hands were braced on his shoulders when he felt Dean shift to pull Sam up against him, Sam’s chin tucked on Dean’s shoulder like he used to when he was a kid. It was everything his brother did when Sam was upset, offering tactile comfort, but Dad’s voice echoed in his head, and Sam tensed.

Dean’s response was immediate. “Don’t, Sam. He’s wrong and we both know it. Don’t let him do this.”

“I don’t know how you can be so calm,” Sam whispered. His eyes burned. “Just…you heard him, you heard what he said-“

“The difference is that I’m pissed off,” Dean said, jaw clenched. “Because that was _my_ kid he just dragged all over to hell and back for what reason, I’ve got no goddamn clue. Tell me the truth: if he’d chosen to demonize me in the same way, would you be sitting here trying not to lose your lunch again?”

No. He’d have been out in the room screaming at Dad and taking him on. For some reason, knowing what he’d do if the roles were reversed, Sam felt the tension leave him almost all at once, and he slumped against Dean.

“That’s what I thought.” Despite his words, Dean’s voice was soft and gentle. They sat there for a long minute or two, Sam still trying to breathe and settle his heart rate, Dean still a solid force to lean on. There were times that Dean felt like a fortress, or a shield, ready to defend Sam from what the world threw at them. It was what every parent did for their child. Or, well. What every parent should do.

He slowly drew back and wiped at his eyes. Dean produced a handkerchief out of seemingly nowhere and even made a grossed-out face when Sam blew his nose, which made Sam huff a surprised laugh at the normalcy of it. Like Sam wasn’t falling apart because Dad had miraculously shown up and accused Sam of-

He took a deep breath, then another.

The room only had the desk light on, and the bunker never helped orient him in regards to time of day. “’Time s’it?” he asked.

“Almost six in the morning. Mom’s come by twice to check on you, make sure we’re okay. No clue where he is.”

It was time for them to get Dad back before the timeline diverged too much. It made Sam feel sick for a whole different reason: their one day and night with their dad, and Dean had spent it locked in his room watching out for Sam.

“Don’t even,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Don’t you even _dare_. I can see it on your friggin’ face, dude.”

“You don’t know everything about me,” Sam muttered, but his cheeks went red at being so blatantly called out. Sometimes, Dean knowing him inside and out had its disadvantages. How he’d ever managed to lie to Dean before, he had no clue-

“That does seem to be true, yeah.”

Sam frowned. Dean met his gaze evenly and rearranged himself so he sat beside Sam. He didn’t look angry about it, more matter of fact than anything else. “What don’t you know?” Sam asked, then made a face at himself.

Dean’s lips turned up into a quick grin. “Hilariously enough, I _can_ actually answer that question,” he said, and though the smile stayed, he narrowed his gaze. “Like how you’ve apparently been ducking cooking duties.”

Sam froze. “And that you _did_ look for me,” Dean continued, softer now. “When I was in Purgatory. And called me while you were at college-“

Too much. It was too much. “Don’t, just…” Sam buried his face in his hand and felt it shake slightly. Dean brushed his shoulder against Sam’s, a steady presence, and he didn’t say anything else. Just let Sam take a minute while his mind raced, because there was only one way Dean could know any of that, and that was if he’d been outside the room while Sam had dared to ask the one question of Dad he’d never dared to ask before.

These weren’t things he’d wanted Dean to have to deal with, to know. Never mind the fact that Dean had heard the larger secret, that he was into more than women: his brother didn’t do well with Sam keeping any sort of secret. They’d made promises to each other, sworn to be honest and open, and then for Dean to find out that Sam still had secrets…

“I’m sorry,” he whispered miserably. “Dean, I didn’t, I mean, I wasn’t trying to-“

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean said, then frowned. “Wait, you think I’m, what, pissed off about this?”

“It’s me keeping secrets.” He wished he felt more balanced than he did. Instead, he just felt like a raw nerve, exposed, all of it ready to hurt. “And me keeping secrets about big things.”

For a moment, Dean didn’t say anything, and Sam glanced at him. Dean certainly didn’t look angry or worse, hurt. He looked thoughtful, like he was trying to consider the best way to say something. The look he got whenever he knew that it mattered to get it right the first time out the gate. Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever told his brother how much that mattered when he did that. Words didn’t mean as much to Dean, but they did to Sam. And Dean knew that.

When Dean did speak, it was in the same, quiet, measured tone that Sam had come to know and rely on. The “parent” tone that he’d perfected even as a kid. “Let me get one thing clear first and foremost. I’m not bothered by you liking guys. Neither is Mom, for that matter, but-“

“She’s not?” Sam asked. Then memory came back and he felt his face twist into bewilderment. “I mean, she did say she was…okay with-“

“That was more her trying to get a reaction out of Dad,” Dean said with a snort. “But she really meant it. And she doesn’t care about you with a guy, and neither do I, all right? Whatever makes you happy, Sammy, seriously.”

His eyes burned at the easy acceptance. “I wish you’d told me,” Dean said, and there was the hurt that Sam had been expecting. “But…I get why you didn’t. Especially after what Dad did. Marshall Hartman, right? In Oregon?”

It had been a long time since he’d heard the name or even let himself think about the first guy that had caught Sam’s attention. “Yeah,” he said. “I, uh. Didn’t see him again. I looked him up a few years ago and he’s married to what looks like a nice guy.” One that hadn’t looked anything like Sam. He hadn’t known what to do with that.

Dad hadn’t done anything to Marshall beyond yell at him. For that, Sam was absurdly grateful for. No, he’d borne the brunt of his father’s fury by himself. He’d never told Dean because, well. Dean had taken Dad’s side in nearly everything when he’d been a teen. It was easier to pretend that Dean would’ve sided with him than to tell him and find out the truth.

To know now that he could’ve followed his instincts, he could’ve told Dean, and his brother would’ve understood…it meant everything.

“I’m sorry, Sammy.”

Sam glanced at his brother. Dean looked older than his age. “For a lot. God, I wish you’d just fucking _told_ me. About that. About any of it. Why didn’t you tell me you called, or about looking for me, you let me chew on you-“

“Because I gave up,” Sam told him. “I couldn’t find any evidence of you anywhere else and so I just…gave up. On everything.” It was hard to admit that, and he watched as Dean shut his eyes when he put two and two together. “If it hadn’t been for Riot, your car would probably be at the bottom of some ravine or wrapped around a telephone pole.”

“Not the car I’m worried about, Sam,” Dean managed tightly. He wrapped a hand around the back of Sam’s neck, fingers not so lightly digging against the pulse points, and Sam let him. He’d do the same if Dean had told him he’d been ready to take one final ride.

He’d never wanted Dean to know because hurting Dean was worse than himself hurting. He felt each jab to his brother like it was being delivered to his own body or heart. Dean didn’t back down, though, just stayed, determined to see it through because he wanted to. It made him all the more grateful that Dean had chosen _him_. That Dean was standing with _him_. God knew he didn’t deserve it but he’d selfishly take it.

Dean finally pulled his hand back. “What else,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Well, the worst of it had been out in the open, really. Everything else came a little easier, though it still took a bit to find the words. How did you put together words for things you’d kept to yourself for so long? “I…know how to cook. Better than you think. I actually took a cooking class at Stanford with Jess. Learned more with Amelia.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just sat beside him, a solid wall of support. It was enough for Sam to find the rest of his words.

“I know how to deal with the car, more than just change the oil and tires. Like, take a carburetor apart and put it back together. It gave me something to do when you were in Hell, look at old car books and manuals. I couldn’t let the car fall into disrepair, y’know? It was…it was all of you that I had left.”

Dean blinked, clearly surprised at that. Sam took a breath and let the rest of his words out in a rush. “I can play the piano and know enough about drinks to be a mixologist and can speak and understand Enochian.”

At that, Dean’s eyebrows shot to the sky. “You can _understand_ Enochian? How-“ Then he went pale when he’d apparently figured it out.

Sam winced. Yeah. Sitting between two bickering archangels for hundreds of years had immersed him in the language pretty well.

“Nothing like a hundred and fifty years listening to it,” Dean said after a moment, and Sam outright flinched. He’d forgotten about that, too.

Dean immediately narrowed his gaze. “What?”

He thought he’d gotten all the hard secrets out of the way. The other secrets were easier to share. This one would only hurt Dean. “Just, y’know, remembering-“

“Don’t lie to me,” Dean said tightly. “Not now. C’mon, Sammy. Talk to me.”

Nothing for it. He’d just spit it out, like ripping off a band aid. “It…wasn’t a hundred and fifty years,” Sam said quietly.

Dean blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The Cage. It…it runs faster than the rest of Hell.”

The instant Dean understood, horror filled his face, and Sam turned away, unable to look at him for a moment more. “It was probably closer to five hundred years or so. I just, uh. I just never had a good time to tell you. Or a reason why I should.”

“ _Sam_.”

Sam shook his head furiously. “It’s fine. It’s, it’s fine, okay? This is why I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want you to deal with it-“

Arms caught him around the shoulders and hauled him in, and Sam buried his face in Dean’s neck again like he was all of four years old and scared of the dark. _Nothing can get me when I’m with Dean,_ and that mantra hadn’t really changed in truth over the years. He clutched at Dean’s shirt, two fingers tucked into his brother’s shirt pocket, and shut his eyes tight.

“You should’ve told me,” and Dean’s voice actually shook, making Sam feel that much lower. “Sammy, why didn’t you _tell me_?”

Sam swallowed, eyes still shut tight. “You looked at me like I’d lost my marbles as it was. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t really gone crazy. I just, I couldn’t handle it myself and I didn’t want you to look at me-“

“You need to get one thing straight right here, right now. I will _never_ look at you like you’re less than amazing, or less than anything. You’re my little brother, my best friend, you’re _my kid_ , and you are not less than _anything_. And nothing you do, nothing that happens, is going to change that. Demon blood, your years in the Cage, your ability to possibly out-cook me, who you choose to be with. None of it.”

Dean’s voice was rough but sincere, full of more emotion than Sam had heard in years. Sam for his part couldn’t stop his eyes from filling or his breath from hitching. Thirty-six years old with a soul hundreds of years old and his brother could still break him down to a kid like no one else. Dean’s arms were tight around him, grasping so firmly Sam wasn’t sure how he was still breathing. Hands splayed across his back, a solid _I’m here,_ and it had been a long time since Sam had felt smaller than his brother. Small enough to hide in Dean’s embrace and pretend his big brother could make it all better.

Who was he kidding? Dean _could_ make it all better.

Dean pulled back slightly but only to wipe tears from Sam’s cheeks. “You hear me?” he asked softly.

Sam managed a jerky nod. He tried to answer, but he couldn’t find his voice.

A soft knock at the door made them both startle. They weren’t the only ones in the bunker. The door opened slowly and Sam instinctively tried to pull away because the last thing Dad needed was ammo while they sat on the bed, curled around each other.

Dean refused to yield, though, and a moment later, Mom poked her head in. She glanced at the two of them and looked…relieved? “You two all right?” she asked all the same.

“Been better,” Dean told her. Sam felt himself flush a bit being gripped hard like Dean expected him to run. Which, well. Wasn’t too far from the truth.

Mom nodded, like that was what she’d expected. “We need to get your dad moving,” she said. “Do you want breakfast before or after?”

“After.” Dean’s terse voice left no room for what he wanted to do and swiftly.

Mom gave another nod, then a soft smile just for Sam. “I’ve got hot water ready for tea if you want it, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Dean said for them both, “we’ll be right out.”

As Mom shut the door, Dean didn’t hesitate. “You can hang out in here or elsewhere or wherever. You don’t have to deal with him again.”

“It’s Dad,” Sam told him. “He’s not a demon or anything.”

“Yeah,” and Dean made a face. “That’s what makes this worse.”

For some reason, it was that statement, coupled with Mom’s promise of tea, that made Sam sit up straight for the first time in what felt like days. Love in two different forms, all of it meant for him, and he felt like he could draw a full breath. “I’m serious, Sam,” Dean began, but Sam shook his head.

“I know. But I’m not going to hide out here while you send Dad back. I didn’t hide from anything else we’ve ever faced, and I never hid from him before. I’m not going to start now.”

Dean pursed his lips and didn’t look thrilled by the choice, but he didn’t say anything. Sam gave a small smile that felt as tired as he did. “Besides, it’s our last chance to see Dad. _My_ last chance to see Dad.”

Because at the end of the day, it was his dad, a man he’d had to watch die, a man who hadn’t exactly been Dad material but the man who’d had the title anyway. A man he loved even when it hurt to care. Sam still felt that kid inside of him begging for his father’s love and admiration.

He also didn’t need Dean to regret not seeing Dad off. He might be pissed off now, but Sam remembered the way his brother had been after Dad had died.

He wiped a hand over his face to dry off the last of anything remaining, then stood, surprised to find his limbs a little shakier than he’d expected. Dean rose with him, ready for Sam to do…whatever. It only gave Sam all the more strength to do what needed to be done.

“Come on,” Sam said, then cleared his throat to get rid of the last of his rough voice. “Let’s get Dad back to his time.”

There were days when Dean wondered how he got up in the morning. The world had chewed them up and spit them out, and some days he felt exhausted, felt like all the moments from Hell and Purgatory were riding on him, clawing at him, tearing him down.

Then there were days where he looked at Sam and wondered how the hell his little brother kept going. He’d done his time in Hell (more than Dean had known and it _hurt_ even more than it had before), he’d been shot at and beaten and ripped down by the people who were supposed to care about him, love him. Any lesser man would’ve given up a million times over.

Not his Sammy. And Dean was pretty sure that it was because of Sam’s continued determination, his perseverance, that Dean himself found a reason to push himself out of bed in the morning. Or late afternoon after a bender. Whatever.

So he figured he had double reasons to be angry whenever someone came for Sam, whether attacking him physically or mentally. Especially if they came for the battered heart that the stupid kid continued to wear on his sleeve.

He tried to remind himself that Sam had had valid reasons for coming out to face Dad as they headed into the library. Sam wanted to say goodbye to Dad. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, to see the man who had been their only family for a long time. The guy whose death still kept Dean a little screwed up sometimes, even all these years later. The man who hadn’t really been a dad but had tried his best. Sam deserved a goodbye, and deep down, Dean wanted one, too.

That, however, was completely out of his hands. No, that all depended on Dad.

As soon as they walked in, Dean felt his blood pressure rise. Because Dad stood, leaning against a table, arms crossed almost defiantly. Mom stood next to him, just off to the side, but her pursed lips and furrowed brow were all aimed at Dad. Well, that helped.

And on the table in front of them both was the pearl and a bookend.

Dad cleared his throat, just like he used to before he delivered his edicts. “Sam, listen-“

“Well, let’s get this show on the road,” Dean said, clapping his hands together. Dad narrowed his gaze, mouth turned down at being cut off, but Dean met him glare for glare. If Dad thought he was going to be the good little soldier he’d always been, he had another thing coming.

“I just want to talk to Sam,” Dad said, voice rising a little, and Dean was suddenly so very _done_.

“No, you want to chew him down to size and shove him into the box that fits your standards for a good son, which is crap by the way. I’m done watching you do it, and I’m done letting you do it.”

The look he got was one of shock. Dean had never stood up to Dad at this point that Dad could remember. Good. After a moment, Dad finally cleared his throat. “All right, then I’d like to ask that he listen for a moment.”

“Like you did when you thought we were, what, screwing each other? Never mind, you would’ve had to actually talk to us about that first.”

“If you two hadn’t apparently hid and eavesdropped like children, maybe I would have,” Dad said, and there was anger beginning to build on his face now. “And while I’m grateful that you two aren’t doing…that, you have to understand that I had my reasons for believing that. After all-“

“Oh, you mean the kid you found Sam with that one time,” Dean said, cutting him off. “On the topic of listening, did you listen when you found him with that boy? I mean, I just don’t get you. You wanted us together for so long, _follow Dean_ and _look out for Sammy_ , and then you couldn’t split us up fast enough. What possible ‘reasons’ could you have for abandoning your youngest son?”

Dad looked almost as angry as Dean had ever seen him. The last time he’d looked that angry, it had been dressing Sam down before the car crash. “You have no idea what you’re talking about-“

“I do, as a matter of fact. It’s not like I watched you belittle him for years or anything. Oh, wait-“

“There are things you don’t know,” Dad snapped. “Things you have _no_ clue-“

His blood felt as if it were all but boiling. Sam stood beside him but his shoulders were nearly to his ears, like he was ready to ward off a blow, and it just incensed him all the more. At Dad’s words, Sam actually unhunched a little, and he looked bewildered. Dean wasn’t confused at all. “We’ve been hunting without you for years, and I’ve seen Sam face things you don’t know anything about.“

“Okay, both of you, stop,” Mom said, raising her hands. “John, listen to your son-“

“You’re taking _his_ side?”

“I’m just asking you to listen!”

“Funny, that’s all Sam ever asked for, too.”

“Goddammit Dean, I’m not going to explain myself to you-“

“We deserve an explanation for a lot of things, but I’ll take you explaining why you felt the need to cut Sam not just out of your life but _my_ life too-“

“I’d honestly like an explanation of that too, John.”

“You two are just going to have to trust me because I did what I had to-“

“ _Trust you_? How much have you been drinking this morning because-“

“It’s the demon blood, isn’t it.”

Sam’s voice cut across all of them, quiet but firm. At the words, however, Dad froze. Dean glanced to where his brother stood, not as hunched over, but still just as resigned. His eyes were dark and knowing. “You found out about the demon blood,” Sam continued, voice painfully soft, and Dean’s chest tightened to hear it. “And that’s why I had to go.”

“He’s not a demon,” Dean snapped without thinking. “Sammy, you’re not.”

“I know,” Sam said, and the idiot actually looked like he _understood_ as his eyes never once moved from Dad. Dad was still frozen, mouth pursed tight as if he might be sick. “But that’s why you shoved me out the door, isn’t it? Because you thought the demon blood was influencing me, somehow. Twisting me into something not human, not _right_.”

Mom had turned to Dad now, eyes sharp and accusing. Dad began to speak at last, chest heaving for air, but Sam’s next words brought silence to the room again.

“And pushing me out meant you didn’t have to kill me.”

Dean felt his mouth drop open, but Dad shut his eyes, all but confirming what Sam had surmised. Mom had her hand up to her mouth, moving between Dad and Sam, unable to speak. Dean’s own brain felt scrambled and couldn’t keep up.

“You saw it as a mercy, didn’t you,” Sam said, and Dad finally spoke, voice choked.

“I, I couldn’t, I couldn’t do it. Even if you weren’t my son anymore, I couldn’t-“

Couldn’t bring himself to kill Sam. Had broken his own code, his own rules, and had let Sam go, possibly released a demon into the population, all to not be the one to kill his son.

Dean found his voice at last. “He’s not a demon. You know what that blood did to him? It gave him debilitating visions of the future, of people dying. He had to watch people die and even with the information we got from his visions, we rarely got to save anyone. It left him with migraines that incapacitated him, left him unable to even function through the pain. That’s what it did.”

Dad watched him now, pain mixed with shock and what was maybe even hope. “And you know what he did, even through all of that?” Dean said, because Dad needed to hear it, Mom too, but Sam most of all. “He still fought to save every single one of those people. We traveled for hours sometimes just to try and get to people, to save them. You tell me if that’s what a demon would do. What someone who was _selfish_ would do.”

He knew the minute Dad realized that Dean had overheard their conversation in the reference room. For the first time in Dean’s memory, Dad actually looked away first, as if in shame. Mom seemed as if she wanted to reach for Dad, then stopped and crossed her arms.

Dean glanced at Sam and found his brother watching him, mouth parted slightly in surprise, eyes red and filled with tears. Dean gave him a short nod. _I’ve got you_. And nothing that Dad could say or do would change that.

He hated that it made sense, why Dad had decided to do what he did. Or the way Dad had probably looked at things, because no son of his would have ever gotten together with a guy, or argued so much against hunting, or been so belligerent about moving. Dad must’ve felt horrified to find out about the demon blood – and probably relieved to know there was a reason for all those other things.

And somewhere in there, Dad had gotten it in his head that Sam was trying to coerce Dean.

“I…I did what I thought I had to,” Dad said helplessly. He glanced between the both of them. “It just, it made sense. But I couldn’t kill him.”

No, he’d only passed that on to Dean right before he’d died. Dean’s fingers tightened into fists.

Sam suddenly shifted and moved forward, slowly, carefully, clearly aimed towards Dad. Even as Dad looked braced for a blow, Sam raised his arms and wrapped them around Dad. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the son you wanted,” he said quietly, and Dad shut his eyes and finally grabbed Sam back, fingers tight. Forgiveness given, just like that, because that was Sam, and it made Dean so damn proud and so damn _pissed_ at the same time.

When they parted, Sam backed away, clearly giving Dean his chance to say goodbye. Dad looked miserable, his eyes all on Sam, and Dean wondered if he was regretting anything. How he’d missed out on knowing and loving the best person Dean knew. It honestly looked like Dad was seeing him through new eyes and was stunned by what he saw.

Finally Dean moved forward and pulled Dad into a quick embrace. “I’m sorry I was,” Dean whispered in his ear.

Dad went still, arms falling away from where they’d just held him. Dean stepped back and rejoined Sam near the other table just as Mom took Dad’s hand in hers. Mom’s face was flooded with tears, and when Dad looked at her, it was with the same loving look he’d always had before the fire. The John that Dean had pretty much figured had died with Mom, in a way, was here, and maybe it was for that reason that when Dad turned to gaze at the both of them, his eyes were filled with pain. “Sam,” he began, and Dean tensed up. “Sam, I didn’t…you know I…”

When it was clear he wasn’t going to continue, Sam gave a sad smile. “I know,” he said quietly. A moment later, he brought the bookend down on the pearl, and Dad was gone.

Mom gave a sharp inhale when he disappeared, and Dean felt his eardrums both pop. Sam let out a shaky breath and seemed to slump, like all his energy had left him. Probably had.

Dean caught him as he swayed, blinking blearily. His brother immediately tried to stand up straighter but Dean just kept moving him forward towards the kitchen. “I’ll get tea,” Dean offered to his mom. She probably wasn’t standing so great at the moment, either, but right now, Dean had more pressing concerns. Like a giant little brother about to collapse if he didn’t get a seat sometime soon.

“No, I will,” Mom said, and though her voice shook, she moved towards the kitchen with purpose. It was clear she needed something to do and Dean didn’t blame her. Let her manage whatever she wanted.

They made it to the kitchen and the kitchen table before Sam all but fell into his seat. He gave a short laugh. “You’d have thought I didn’t sleep last night,” he said with a wry grin. “Sorry, man.”

He wanted to make a comment about Sam getting old, about hogging Dean’s bed, but in light of Dad and his accusations they both rang a little hollow, and neither would tell Sam how much he loved the kid. He settled instead for running a hand through Sam’s hair and messing it up. Sam gave a squawk of indignation and tried to tame it back into submission. “Jerk,” Sam said, but he grinned while he said it.

“Bitch,” Dean said. _I love you, too._

Mom came over and set three mugs down, then a bottle of whiskey beside them. “In case anyone else needs to add a punch,” she said when they raised an eyebrow at her. She immediately demonstrated how to do so by pouring a liberal amount into her own mug and taking a long pull.

“Yeah, think we’ll need some eggs or something to help soak that up,” Dean said. He pointed a finger at Sam who blinked. “Don’t think you’ll get out of cooking anymore. I’ve been informed that you’re a good cook.”

“I’m looking forward to sampling what you make,” Mom said, and then she glanced at Dean with a grin as Sam turned faintly red. “Then we can tell you what you should make for a date.”

“Y’know, speaking of that, now that I know you like sampling both sides of the buffet, it’ll make playing wingman a lot easier.”

“Oh god,” Sam moaned, face now a brilliant red. “I completely regret telling you anything.”

Mom’s grin grew and Dean winked at her as he rose to make breakfast. Without looking back he knew what he’d see, but when he reached the fridge, he still swung his gaze behind him.

Sam was deep in conversation with Mom, something that was making him screw up his face like he was trying not to cry. She reached over the table and took his hand, and Dean was suddenly intensely grateful that she was there. Having her support Sam had done wonders for his brother.

Though he knew without a doubt that while Sam had been worried about Mom’s reaction, it hadn’t been her approval he’d craved and needed. Even now, Sam glanced at him, seeking him out. Dean tossed him a quick wink and turned to get the eggs out, but not before he’d seen Sam’s lips turn up into a smile.

Eggs and French toast weren’t going to fix what Dad had torn open. Sam was putting on a brave face and eventually it would crack. Probably nowhere near as bad as he had yesterday when he’d heard it, but Dean knew it was bound to roll around in his brother’s head for a while. There was also the large list of things that Sam had kept to himself for far too long. Keeping secrets because he felt worried about how they’d be received was wrong, and so was keeping them because he didn’t want Dean to have to deal with them. Dean would wait for the right time and then they’d talk, maybe with some alcohol to grease the wheels. “Ambushed” was an ugly word: he liked “encouraged” a lot better.

Sam would know that he could bring anything to Dean by the time he was done. That, Dean would make sure to clear up so there was no confusion.

And god help whoever decided to give his kid hell. Just because Sam could defend himself didn’t Dean wouldn’t step in to spread some big brother righteousness first.

He had no problem clearing up any confusion about that, either.

The days following were…ugly.

Sam hadn’t had nightmares about Dad and that day with Marshall in a long, long time. It didn’t take Dean long to figure out that Sam wasn’t sleeping, instead choosing to wander the library until he ran into things, he was so tired. Dean, being the big brother type that he was, first opted to give Sam anything else to think about. Cases. A list of celebrities he thought were hot which now included women and men. Recipes to try. Netflix when all else failed.

And when _that_ failed on a Tuesday night, because of course the stupid movie had been about a dad finally accepting his gay son after a hard and dramatic battle, Sam quietly blew up. A bottle too hard in the trash can led to sweeping all the books off the library table led to storming down to the target range. Only then did Dean stop him. “I’ll let you fire as many rounds as you want,” Dean told him. “I’ll set ‘em up, you knock ‘em down. But I’m not going anywhere.”

So Sam fired off rounds, whittling down their ammo supply until bullets weren’t enough, and suddenly words came pouring out. How Dad had thrown him around and even possibly fractured his wrist after he’d found Sam with Marshall. How he’d tried to hook up with a cute guy in college but he’d flashed back and that had been the last time he’d tried to truly do anything with a man. How Lucifer had forced him at various guys in the Cage because it had been _fun_ for him to watch. How Lucifer had forced him at _Dean_. How Sam still wasn’t sure about reality sometimes or who Sam Winchester was and how he didn’t want to keep secrets, Dean, he _didn’t,_ because he’d never wanted to keep secrets from Dean but he’d had to and it felt like he’d never stopped.

Sometime later, Sam wasn’t even sure when, he found himself on the ground of the target range, seated with his back to the wall. His head rested against Dean’s shoulder which felt as wet as his face. An arm wrapped around his shoulder, holding him tight, fingers digging in well past the point of pain. Dean’s own face was covered in tears and heartache and Sam’s throat had hurt like he’d yelled or sobbed or maybe even both. They were a mess.

But it was the first time since Dad had shown up that Sam had finally, truly, felt like himself again. Maybe even a little like the kid who’d been confident and determined to find out if the guy at school was into him. He felt like Sam, Dean’s brother and kid.

It felt…good.

He pushed himself to his feet, startling Dean. “Sammy?” 

Sam glanced down at him and offered him a hand up. “Yeah,” Sam said, voice rough. “Yeah.”

Dean’s hand grasped his but it still felt like Dean was keeping him upright and not Sam helping Dean to stand. That hadn’t changed since they were kids. “Better?” Dean asked.

Loaded question, but it was the best question Dean could give after everything. Sam gave him a soft smile, and that seemed to be all the answer Dean needed. “C’mon,” Dean said, catching Sam around the shoulders again, and he led the way upstairs.

END


End file.
